


Subterfuge and Sacrifice

by TheNightshadeDeluxe



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fusion, Alternate Universe - Hunters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angel The Series - Freeform, Buffy/Angel/Supernatural crossover, Crossover, Hot White Guys Banging, M/M, Shameless Smut, Smutty Smut That Smuts, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightshadeDeluxe/pseuds/TheNightshadeDeluxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's been out all night. Sam is furious. Dean thinks that what Sammy doesn't know won't hurt him. Sam knows a lot more than Dean realises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carousal

**Author's Note:**

> Again, unbeta'd nonsense from the depths of my depraved mind. I started writing this a billion years ago and have finally found a place to post it. Go easy on me, it's an earlier work and probably naff as hell. I'm so sorry...

Dean fumbled with the keys for the motel door believing he was being as quiet as a church mouse. 

He slid his key into the door, slowly turning it before it swung inwards with force making him stumble forward with the momentum.

Sam had wrenched the door open causing Dean to topple forward into him.

_Not so quiet, then._

Sam was beyond pissed, it was 4.17am. Dean smelt like booze and sex and cigarette smoke and a little bit of something he couldn’t quite catch. It was a scent he recognised but his current mood demanded that he forget it for now. Dean had clearly been out carousing all night while Sam stayed in the room working out their next move. 

A quick trip to the local bar had turned into an almost all-nighter. Sam could always count on Dean arriving home before dawn but he was not expecting him to fuck off again while they were working a case. So fucking typical. Typical in that it was Dean taking the fucking cake, yet again, and Sam was beyond sick and tired of it.

“Heyyyy Sammyyyyy!” Dean slurred, grinning that wickedly disarming grin at his little brother.

Sam’s face was as unreceptive as stone against his brothers’ tipsy joviality. 

“Dean! Where in the fuck have you been?” he demanded, his fury bubbling under the surface, as he forced his brother into the room and locked the door behind him.

Dean laughed merrily: “Ohhhh, wouldn’t you just loooove to know!” he offered mockingly as Sam stood glaring at him in disbelief. 

His fists were tightly clenched at his sides, brow furrowed and chin jutted forward the way it always did when he was severely fucked off. Dean casually dropped his keys onto the table and flopped, back first, onto the bed with a slight bounce that made him chuckle, seemingly ignorant of his brother’s barely concealed fury. 

Sam felt his bile rising. He knew all too well where he’d been but he didn’t want to hear, let alone believe, the nauseating truth. He stalked toward his prone, drunken brother and aggressively lifted him by the shirt collar so they were nose to nose.

“You’ve been with that…” Sam hissed between clenched teeth in a low, barely contained growl. 

He looked away from his brothers’ incandescent green eyes in disgust, not wanting to finish the sentence. The unavoidable truth burned bright behind Dean’s eyes and seared its way into Sam’s chest like hot lead. It wasn’t the first time, but he would always hope against hope that it would be the last. 

“Go on. Say it, Sammy,” Dean demanded, seeming suddenly sober and focussed. “Say it!”

Sam looked him square in the eye. 

_“That – fucking – vampire!”_ Sam spat each syllable like a filthy accusation.

Dean merely smirked up at his little brother who was seething at his alleged betrayal and this only served to anger him further. To Dean, it was clear that this thing – whatever it truly was – was something Sam was never going to understand and he knew that he wasn’t ever going to be able to explain in terms to make it clear. So he didn’t, and Sam continued to roil at his brother’s blatant disrespect of the unwritten and oft unspoken (no one truly considered it necessary, after all) Hunter Tenet – Thou shalt not lie with a demon. 

Sam wasn’t concerned in the least that it was a man, Dean had always taken lovers from both sides of the field, but in Sam’s eyes, a goddamn vampire was really fucking cutting it. They were hunters and vampires were just another one in the increasing army of evil known as the enemy.

“Oh come on! It’s not like you’re in living in a glass tower over there, Sam!”

Dean needed to use extra force to push Sam back off of him and sat up on the edge of the bed lowering his head for a moment to regain his wits and to stop the room from spinning. Not from the alcohol that had warn off hours ago, but the weariness his body was starting to feel as well as the surge of adrenaline. 

Once he’d recouped some sense of stability, he began quietly, almost apologetically: “Look, I don’t know what to tell you, Sammy. I wish I could tell you that I won’t go there again and absolutely mean it, but I can’t. I get that it flies directly in the face of everything we’ve ever known, everything dad and Bobby ever taught us. Believe me, I get it. I’ll never be able to fully explain the reasons why I can’t just walk away from this.” 

Dean paused for a moment while Sam paced and bristled before beginning again, this time more pointedly. 

“Besides,” Dean felt his ire rising in the face of Sam’s anger, “I don’t see why I have to justify my actions to you. We’re fucking adults here. Do I really need to rehash the whole demon blood addiction,” Dean schooled his features into cold pointed focus, “with goddamn fucking _Ruby_ no less, that you went through?” 

He injected more than a little venom into the statement knowing full well he’d hit a chord and waited for Sam’s reaction. Sam stopped pacing the small room. Damn it all to fucking Hades and back, he knew his brother was right. While Sam wasn’t exactly in a position to be sanctimonious about anything considering his own shady history, least of all his damn near crippling demon blood addiction, this was different. This was his big brother, Dean. Once his protector, now his only family and the closest connection to what he can honestly call home. 

And that Dean Winchester, his brother and fearless hunter, was bedding a soulless vampire. He felt like their positions had been reversed and he knew all too well how quickly it would devolve into something other. 

Dean’s remark had slapped him down from his high horse and had taken some of the sting out of his initial anger, only to replace it with another. He fucking loathed the fact that Dean was something akin to right and Sam knew he couldn’t stay mad at him in this. He shook the memory of his enforced rehab at Bobby’s off. It seemed a lifetime ago and he and Dean had been in what felt like thousands of demon skirmishes between then and now. 

Sam knew that Dean was clever – and he truly hoped and prayed that he was in this – he didn’t exactly trust that this vampire (or any demon, for that matter) would ever have his brother’s best interests at heart, not like he did. Sam was also keenly aware that Dean could be highly unpredictable when it came to these things so he could never really be sure he was taking the necessary precautions…did he _even_ have a stake with him? 

Sam released a long, measured exhale before he spoke again. 

“No. No, I guess you really don’t,” he said with a drawn out sigh, a little softer and slightly mollified, his anger receding but not fully dissipated. Sam chewed his bottom lip as he continued to pace. “But, Dean...,” he continued, trying to consider the delivery of his next words, “I uhh...just need to know. Are you... uh... being... um...” Sam looked around the room nervously. The words wouldn’t come. 

Dean stood and looked at Sam incredulously. “Oh god, Sam. Are you seriously fucking asking me if I’m... if we’re using... _protection_?” Dean couldn't be believe Sam was giving him the fucking _talk_.  


Sam blanched. “Wait, what? No! That’s not what I meant!” he balked. “Stakes! Do you have any with you when you’re...” Sam couldn’t finish his sentence, the sick-hot fissure in his chest widening and preventing him from continuing.

Dean raised his hands in a ‘say no more’ gesture: “Hey, it’s alright baby brother. I know you’re just looking out for me and I appreciate it. But you don’t have to worry, okay? Everything’s cool.”

“Huh. Yeah, I’m sure it is. But as canny as you and I are, you still have to stay on your toes, Dean. I mean, vampires for chrissakes. They’re just as devious and underhanded as any other demon in a skin suit.”

“Or those dickish angels,” Dean said with a raised eyebrow as if to consider the point and waved a dismissive hand at Sam. “It’s fine, Sammy, I promise. You don’t have to worry, I’m careful - honest,” he said brushing the tender spot under his jacket, which smarted at the touch. He was mindful not to let the pain show on his face, lest it start another confrontation that he wasn’t ready to deal with. Not at almost five in the morning. It was going to leave a mark. He really would have to be more careful, dammit.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just... I wish you’d tell me when you’re gonna be out all night,” Sam replied, there was still a hard edge to his voice but Dean let it slide. It was progress at the very least. 

“I did text you to let you know. Did you not get them?” Dean raised a questioning brow at his brother. 

Sam’s shot up and stormed to the table to check his phone. 

There were three unread messages from Dean. Shit. He was goddamn fucking right. Again. 

“Oh... I uh... I didn’t see them,” he admitted sheepishly. 

Dean shook his head and laughed quietly. He knew Sam would have been caught up in his research and forgotten to look at his phone. More to the point, it would have been buried under books and printed pages sprawled across the desk. 

“Okay then, are we cool?” asked Dean, raising a questioning eyebrow at Sam. Sam merely nodded, begrudging as it was, it was a small confirmation that they were always going to be okay. “C’mere. We need to hug this out, bitch!” Dean beamed at him and stood with open arms.

Sam tried to suppress a small smile but that only made things worse. He hugged his brother tight, smiling to himself and only a little bit (but not at all) jokingly called him a jerk. Sam was glad he was safe. Dean was happy that this round was over. He was exhausted, the physical pain was starting to creep in and he was in desperate need of another shower. He’d been worked over in more ways than one tonight and the evidence was starting to show.  


Sam pulled away from Dean crinkling his nose. 

“Dude, seriously. Go shower. I don’t know what you’ve been up to – nor do I want to – but you need to get that stink off of you. As in now,” he said as he playfully smacked Dean’s shoulder.  


“Hey!” Dean said, feigning affront as he lifted his shirt to his nose. Sam was only a little bit right and he eyed him questionably before smirking again. “I will Sammy, now go get some rest,” 

Dean said smiling wearily as he turned and made his way to the bathroom to clean away some of the night’s excesses.


	2. Encounters

Dean slipped into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. 

He knew he didn’t need to but he wanted to check the damage from tonight’s escapades with some certainty of privacy. He slipped out of his jacket and slowly pulled his shirt over his head. He stood in front of the mirror and inspected the small wounds he’d been inflicted – hoping that he’d been able to return the favour in some small way – particularly for the deep bite on his chest. He couldn’t help but mouth a silent “fuck” at his reflection at the sight of it.

He’d always been so careful, particularly when dealing with any vampire. Well, this was his first in this regard. He’d always been particularly wary in his dealings with them and was otherwise preoccupied with staking and beheading and ridding the world of their kind, but... this was... _different_. 

_Yeah, isn’t it always?_

Dean silently berated himself for being so careless and almost unwittingly proving Sam right. He began to slowly, and somewhat painfully, shed the rest of his clothing onto the floor and inspected his slightly blood stained shirt. He was going to have to wash it in the shower, hoping to get the blood out before Sam spotted it and world war three broke out again. 

He climbed into the shower (his second for the night) and turned the water on and hissed through clenched teeth at the hot sting of the water finding its way into every graze and cut etched into his flesh. More care was definitely on the agenda, he mentally noted, even though he knew to his core that it would all go straight to hell the second the vampire was in close proximity again.

The fatigue began settling into his bones as he vigorously lathered and scrubbed the shirt, and himself, under the gloriously hot spray. He quickly finished up, stepped out and hung the damp shirt over a spare towel rack before towelling himself dry. He’d think of a valid excuse to feed Sam in the morning if he was up before him. 

He dabbed his wounds with a small amount of disinfectant found in the medical kit. He bit back the roar of pain as the disinfectant made contact with the bite mark on his chest, just below the anti-possession tattoo. It hurt like a motherfucker, but not as much as when the wound was inflicted only a few hours prior. Dean felt his cock twitch at the memory of its making, even though his entire being was well past the point of exhaustion. He quickly swabbed the bite mark and covered it with a few plasters praying it would be enough. 

He continued to disinfect the other small wounds he could locate, brushed his teeth then slipped into a clean shirt and boxers. He made his way out of the bathroom quietly closing the door behind him before slowly climbing into the double bed beside his already soundly sleeping brother. Sam was sleeping on his side so his back was facing Dean. He whispered a quiet “Night, Sammy,” before rolling onto his side so the brothers lay back to back and slipped into a gloriously deep slumber of his own.

 

*

 

Last night, Dean had gone into town with the sole intention of grabbing some beers from the local (and only) bar in the area while Sam ordered something starchy and fried from the diner near their motel. As Dean walked in the door of the bar, he saw the vampire propping up one side of the bar slinging back a beer, as casual as you like. He was slender, blond and blue eyed with a disarming smile that Dean found himself unable to resist. He was surprised to see the vampire here and as much as he would hate to admit it, it sent an anticipatory thrill through him. 

As Dean approached the bar, the vampire turned and cast his gaze over him causing Dean’s breath to catch. He tried covering it by quickly coughing and looking around at the near-empty bar. The vampire watched him, openly taking in every bow-legged inch of Dean Winchester as he drew near.

“My, my, isn’t this an unpredictably small world. Didn’t expect to see you in this little ‘burb on the outskirts of buttfuck nowhere,” the vampire smiled at him in greeting.  


Dean smiled sardonically in response, keeping his heat in check. 

“Well, this really is a hilarious coincidence, Spike. What brings you here?” 

Spike rolled his eyes with a small exhalation. “Angel’s havin’ one of his ‘sir broods-a-lot’ episodes so I figured ‘bollocks to that’ and appropriated the Mustang. Figured he’d be too caught up in his fortnightly sulk to notice, et voila, here I am,” he waved his half empty glass to emphasis his point before turning a questioning glare towards Dean. “And seeing as we’re in such an inquisitive mood – what are the brothers Winchester doin’ in town?” 

“You know, the usual. A little thing called ‘work’. I guess more to the point would be, WHY are YOU,” Dean quickly glanced around the room, “here? Exactly?” he licked his lips as he eyed Spike expectantly. It struck Dean as peculiar that he’d be here considering he hadn’t seen Spike since their brief encounter in Los Angeles a few months prior.

“Geez, can’t a bloke just take off to the middle a’ nowhere without it being a thing or havin’ some kinda,” Spike looked around then back at Dean with a wicked glint in his eye, “deviant ulterior motive?” There was a slightly defensive edge to his question but Dean let it slide. 

“Uhh, no not really, Spike. So what gives?” 

Dean was at once suspicious of Spike’s reasons for being in town. This very particular one horse town. His reasoning thus far seemed flimsy at best. While it may have been true that he and Angel were on the outs – yet again – it seemed more likely that there was something Spike wasn’t telling him. He wasn’t really buying whatever Spike was selling and in truth, he really didn’t care but he’d push to see what he’d divulge.

“Look, it’s a long story that I don’t fancy getting into the bones of right now if ya don’t mind,” Spike’s tone was exasperated, as if this was the umpteenth time he’d had to explain it. “How about instead, we have a wee dram and catch up on… old times… or somethin’?” 

The vampire emphasised the words _‘old times’_ by lowering his tone, biting his bottom lip and thoroughly eyeing Dean’s body up and down. Dean did his utmost to repress the quiet shudder it sent through him and considered Spike’s offer, thought about the hell he’d catch from Sam for being out so damn long and decided to stay anyway. 

“Just give me a second to let Sam know where I am.”

“Mmf, Sammy Winchester. How is that delicious not-so-little brother of yours?” Spike asked, his voice thick with barely concealed lust. 

Dean shot Spike a disdainful warning look as he messaged Sam to let him know that he’d be staying out at the bar for a while with an old friend that he’d run into. Sam didn’t need to know anymore than that for the time being. 

“Okay. Point taken, hunter,” he said nonchalantly. “Fancy gettin' the fuck outta here, then?” 

Dean cleared his throat, casting a cautious glance around the dingy bar as he slipped his phone into his pocket. 

“Thought you’d never ask,” he responded hoarsely and quickly followed the blond vampire out into the parking lot.

 

*

 

As soon as Dean reached the Impala, Spike grabbed his arm, spun him on his heel and forced him back hard up against the driver’s side door. 

Spike kissed him forcefully and Dean ground his hips into him, kissing him back and matching his intensity. Both were lost in the moment before Dean remembered where they were; a small town on the outskirts of extremely conservative buttfuck nowhere and he forced Spike back. 

“Shit, we need to get out of here. Now,” he said, breathless. 

“You’re not wrong about that,” Spike growled low as he moved in again and palmed the outline of Dean’s thickening cock through his jeans. 

Dean leaned his head back and let out a small moan before catching himself. 

“No seriously, Spike. We need to go, right now,” he said more urgently forcing him back again, if only to stop him from his present ministrations which he’d be entirely lost to within a matter of seconds. That and to prevent any kind of trouble kicking off if they were caught _in flagrante_. 

“Okay, okay. Have it your way, pet. Although, there's nothing like a little bit of sport before the uh... main event,” Spike said with a quirk of his eyebrow and his tongue jammed in behind his bottom lip as he backed away, hands raised in surrender. Dean blanched at the gall of the vampire and the fact that he was willing to tempt the fates just for a bit of amusement. But it didn't quiet the infernal desire that was setting Dean's skin ablaze, quite the opposite. “Follow me, I spied a little place that’s out of the way and not far from here,” Spike said. He turned and made his way toward the black Mustang. 

Dean took a few moments to regain his composure, breathing hard as he climbed into the Impala. He texted Sam again: _Maybe don’t wait up._ He waited for Spike to start up and he followed him along the only road in or out of town north. Dean was under no illusions about where the night would lead, his stomach clenching in anticipation and his adrenaline firing hot in his veins. He quickly texted Sam again: _Definitely don’t wait up. See you in the morning._

After a few minutes, the Mustang turned off onto an old service road that clearly hadn’t been used in years. Dean followed suit. A thick copse of overgrown trees hugged the roadside making it impossibly dark. Without headlights, there was no way anyone could navigate their way through – even during daylight hours – the densely packed trees seemed to block out all external sources of light.

As they reached the other side of the solid line of trees, Spike pulled into a clearing on the left and Dean pulled in behind him. Dean climbed out of the Impala, somewhat confused – there was no ‘place’ here that he could see – in darkness or otherwise – just a small clearing with more forest besides. 

“Here we are,” Spike gestured with his arms to the ‘here’ that wasn’t exactly a discernible anywhere. 

“And… where is ‘here’ exactly?” Dean asked, his scepticism evident. 

“Oh, right, right. I haven’t opened the door yet,” Spike responded enigmatically. 

Dean leaned against the bonnet of the Impala, arms and legs folded and waited to see what would happen. Spike moved to the front of the Mustang, pulled something out of his pocket, lit it with his lighter, waved it around, whispered something in a language that Dean didn’t quite catch (definitely not Latin), loudly clapped his hands together and before long, the air in front of him began to ripple. Spike stood back and turned to Dean. 

“Nearly done,” he offered as he strode toward him.

As he came near, Dean felt heat rise in him again. Dean quickly closed the gap between them wrapping one arm around Spike’s middle the other hand gripping behind the blond’s neck and kissing him hard. A sharp crackle in the air made him stop and turn to see an open door shimmering in their midst. Spike pulled away and moved towards the rippling, crackling apparition. 

“Coming?” Spiked turned and held out his hand in invitation. “Don’t worry, pet. We’re safe from the sight of anyone who might care to be watching once we’re inside. It’s completely invisible from everything – and everyone – once we’re in and we close the door.” 

It was dark magic definitely aligned with Wolfram & Hart. Dean didn’t trust those sons of bitches one iota, given how Spike and he came to be, but there was no turning back now. 

Dean eagerly accepted the invitation and followed Spike inside.


	3. Leaving Scars

Dean stepped inside the door with Spike. He glanced around and recognised that they were standing inside a motel room. It was not entirely dissimilar to the one he was staying in with Sam on the other side of town, nor was it entirely different to the hundreds they’ve stayed in over the years – sparsely furnished, dressed in muted tones and an abundance of thrift shop chic. 

Dean couldn’t determine the exact wherefore and whys of the magic Spike had used to create the space they stood in and right now, he truly didn’t give a shit about any of it. The thing he wanted most in the world was standing in the doorway, eyeing him in a filthy way that made fireflies dance and twirl in the pit of his stomach. The man he’d met in a dank dungeon under the mean streets of LA, a man that should rightly be his adversary. 

The time between their last meeting and now had warped and elongated. For Dean, it certainly felt much longer than the nine weeks and four days that it had actually been. Not that anyone was counting. It had been two nights after what he often referred to as ‘the dungeon incident’ that they’d met in secret. Dean had to lie to Sam about where he was going, something he absolutely loathed doing but he couldn’t put any words to his truth whatever that was. Not then and not now, for the time being at least. 

He had driven to the agreed meeting place and Spike pulled Dean into the dark and kissed him roughly, drawing him into his web of libidinous threats, promises and more besides. Their first time together was fast and furious and more than Dean could have anticipated. The second and third times, which came in quick succession after the first, were equally exhilarating with the forth promising to break him entirely. Dean very quickly learned just how rapid a vampire’s recovery time was. 

What the elder Winchester hadn’t expected from their rendezvous were the evocative dreams or the spark of desire their clandestine encounter had ignited within him afterwards. He thought he’d gotten it out of his system once and for all; let the passing madness of his short-lived Stockholm Syndrome be dealt with. But the fates had had other ideas about that, and over the course of a few short but ultimately blissful hours, the blue-eyed vampire with the toxic blond hair had gotten under his skin. 

Dean was broken from his focused musings when Spike slammed the door closed and shrugged out of his long black duster. Dean’s mouth went dry and his cock twitched at the sight of Spike standing in a tight black tee and impossibly tight black jeans leaving absolutely nothing to his increasingly fertile imagination. The memory of their previous time together built his anticipation for what this night had in store for them and it set his pulse racing. 

Before Dean could pursue the thought any further, Spike was in front of him. He had momentarily forgotten how quickly vampires could move and inhaled sharply at the suddenness of his appearance. Spike gently led him towards the bed, his body pressed firmly into his and Dean went willingly. 

Dean was forced into a seated position when the back of his calves connected with the edge of the mattress. Spike was positioned perfectly before him, legs splayed, and Dean grabbed his denim-clad hips nuzzling the outline of the vampire’s cock through the fabric with his nose, mouth and teeth. Spike unbuckled his belt and Dean unfastened the zipper with his teeth, watching Spike all the while with those sinful green eyes that the vampire knew would be his ruination. 

“You know I get to fuck you slow when you’re done,” Spike growled at his impish lover. 

“Mmm hmmmm,” Dean hummed long and low against the straining fabric, the delicious sensation splintering through him causing him to snap his head back. Dean slowly manoeuvred the jeans down over Spike’s hips and slid them to the floor as Spike removed his shirt and stepped out of the pooled denim at his feet. 

Dean wanted to take a moment to drink in the sight of him – utterly naked, willing and more than able. The sight alone of his chiselled and marble-like perfection built his anticipation to a fever pitch. As Dean ran his hands over the slight curve of his hips, the high firm swell of the vampire’s ass and down along the well-defined inguinal grooves, he felt his breath catching in his throat. He laved his tongue in a hot wet trail up one side, head moving away from where the vampire needed him most. 

The hunter’s ministrations moved further down as his mouth worked in torturously soft laps against the flesh of his groin, fingers gingerly teasing around and under along the perineum, each suckle and stroke pushing’s Spike need into the stratosphere. The vampire ran his fingers through the hunter’s hair and shunting his hips forward, desperate for him to be closer, aching to be inside Dean’s hot wet mouth already. 

Dean finally acquiesced, teasing the head of Spike’s cock with his tongue before wrapping his full lips around the tip still staring up at him, fingers still gently working him open making Spike shudder and moan. Dean ramped up his assault, taking him down to the root in one swift surge forward so that Spike could feel the back of the hunter’s throat against him. Dean was un-fucking-believably talented, increasing his suction and speed, both hands hastily working him into a whimpering wreck as filthy curses and promises to far off gods and demons spilled from Spike unbidden through his sweet release. 

Dean swallowed around the last pulsing vestiges of his orgasm, disengaged, slowly licked his lips and lay back on his elbows on the bed, seemingly pleased with his efforts in breaking the vampire down as quickly as he had. Spike swiftly straddled him and ran his fingers over his still clothed cock all the way up to his lips. Dean’s tongue darted out and lapped at the finger resting on his lower lip until Spike slowly pulled it away. Spike leaned in and kissed him, delicately parting his lips with his tongue tasting his own essence there. 

“Not done with you yet, filthy boy,” Spike whispered hoarsely in his ear as he hauled him back off the bed.

“Go right on ahead and prove it, you dirty... fucking... vampire,” Dean said darkly, daring him to do his worst. Spike forced him back and down into the large leather wingback in the corner of the room. 

“Get undressed,” he ordered sternly. Dean did as he was told, slowly removing each layer of clothing, biting down on his thick lower lip as he went, his eyes radiating licentious hunger until the last item of clothing hit the floor. Spike took his time to admire the view of the naked hunter slouched against the wingback. He was all perfectly sculpted angles and hard lines that Spike knew were the direct result of years of fighting and hard living. 

Spike drew his eyes away from his prize as he strode to the bedside table pulling out some lube from the small drawer. He made his way back towards Dean flicking the cap off and coating his fingers watching as Dean gripped the arms of the wingback, his breath coming in quick hitching gasps, aching with need. 

Spike kneeled in front of him and gently wrapped his lubed fingers around his pulsing cock, pumping him hard and fast until Dean came – all hitching breaths and desperate pleas. Spike lapped up the come from Dean’s heaving chest slowly laving his way up Dean’s body with his tongue, swallowing his spent essence as he did. When he reached his lips, he forced his tongue into Dean’s mouth, making him taste himself, knowing full well how much Dean loved it. Dean moaned into his kiss and arched up into Spike relishing the taste of himself on his lover’s tongue. 

The vampire slowly traced a finger up Dean’s body and tenderly gripped his throat before pulling him up and out of the chair. He flipped their positions and pulled Dean back down into the chair on top of him, his breathing still ragged and uneven. 

“Don’t think you’re ready for me yet, hunter,” Spike growled. 

He reached for the lube again slicked his fingers and trailed them in under his scrotum, slowly teasing his way along his perineum until he found the little puckered spot teeming with nerve endings making Dean gasp and arch up against him. Spike slowly pushed a finger inside maintaining eye contact with him as Dean slid down onto it. Dean closed his eyes as he began to writhe. 

“Open your eyes, baby, look at me.” 

Spike’s voice was rough with heat and desire. Dean opened his eyes and fixed them on Spike’s. The vampire wrapped his free hand around Dean’s cock as he slowly introduced another finger and then another making Dean writhe and keen for more. Spike curled his long slender fingers inside making Dean moan and plead for Spike to fuck him, his fingers working him into a frenetic pace, never taking his eyes from the vampires’. 

Spike was painfully hard again watching and feeling his beautiful hunter writhe and moan on the tips of his fingers. He relished feeling the heat inside his slicked passage that would soon be wrapped around him. Spike wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold out much longer so he slowly removed his fingers from Dean’s slick heat making him whimper and plead. 

“Shhhh baby, not long now,” Spike cooed as he wrapped his hot wet fingers around his own hardness trailing slippery heat along his own length. 

He quickly lubed himself up and positioned himself beneath Dean’s eager heat. He grabbed Dean’s hips to steady him and gently breached the borderline slowly sliding his engorged cock inside Dean. He ground his hips down, forcing his full weight down onto Spike’s cock taking all of him in, filling him up, moaning for all he was worth and begging for more. Spike gasped and shuddered at the sensation, not sure if he’d be able to maintain his own composure and not simply fuck the boy senseless.

Spike took his time, even though Dean wanted him hard and fast and oh-fuck-please-now. Normally, he’d have no hesitation in giving in, mostly because couldn’t hold out himself. Not tonight, not with him. Spike teased him into submission and once they hit the right rhythm – every so often bottoming out just to make Dean beg – Spike would slowly increase the speed or rotate and flick his hips, ever so slightly. He was in control and Dean was going to have to be a good boy and take what was given to him. There would be time for hard and fast later. Right now, it was going to be Spike’s way. 

Spike would have been content to fuck Dean every which way for nights on end if only to watch his body undulate rhythmically against him, observe the ecstasy dance across his face, listen to him grunt and plead and bathe in the sinful litanies that fell from those perfectly ripe lips as he came. He’d relish the way his skin flushed pink as the blood rushed beneath, feeling his breath hitch in ragged gasps, watching the way his back arched as streaks of white heat pulse out of him, eyes rolling back and his entire body stuttering as he reaches glorious finality – poetry in motion. 

Tonight was different and he wanted Dean to know it. He plunged into Dean one final time hitting his sweet spot and they both came long and hard, Dean painting Spike’s chest in stuttering spurts and Spike released inside him. They remained in place for a time, heaving, Dean slumping forward against Spike’s streaked chest catching his breath. Spike relished the sensation of Dean’s heart pounding wildly against his own silent ribcage and the warmth of his hot breath against his throat. 

After a time, Spike reached up and delicately kissed his face and quietly suggested: “Time for a shower, love.” Dean responded with a quiet “Hmmmm,” in sleepy agreement against his ear.  
Slipping himself down from Spike’s lap, Dean stood, somewhat precariously, and steadily made his way to the bathroom. 

“You joining me or am I doing this alone?” Dean asked groggily leaning against the bathroom door. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, pet,” Spike smiled, flicking his bottom lip with his tongue and quickly followed him into the bathroom. 

 

*

 

Dean stepped into the shower, the shower head spraying out a jet of hot water over him. He stood under it for a good minute or so before the vampire sauntered in asking if he was gonna save any of that for him. The hunter smiled at him telling him that he’d better get in if he wanted a chance of getting any which earned him a sardonic smirk. 

Spike forced Dean up against the tiles and kissed him hard and Dean gave as good as he got in return. Spike moved his attentions down Dean’s torso to the taut nipple begging for his attention. He clamped his lips around the nub and flicked at it with his tongue; Dean arched his body into Spike, a hand in behind his head wanting to hold him in position. Spike felt himself change, his teeth elongated and he wanted to sink them into the taut flesh he was working on with his tongue. 

Dean offered encouragement, “Go on, do it… I want you to…I want you to mark me…” he grit out breathless and needy. Spike uttered a quiet “you sure?” through delicate kisses up above the nipple. “Mmm, hmmff,” and finally “yesssss”, were all the encouragement a vampire ever needed. 

Spike suckled the skin just below the anti-possession tattoo Dean shared with his younger brother and bit into the hunters’ taut flesh. Dean gripped Spike’s hair in his fist gritting his teeth and groaning loudly as he snapped his head back against the tiles. The sensation shocked him but Spike held firm suckling the blood that poured from him. As Spike slowed, he felt the tension leach out of Dean as he relaxed into it. The abruptness of fangs tearing into flesh always shocked at first, then, a slow steady rhythm would build from there calming things down as the initial shock and pain receded – as long as the vampire knew what they were doing. Dean was breathing again, still uneven but he was no longer gritting his teeth and holding it in. 

Spike could heal the wound he’d just inflicted but Dean didn’t want him to. He wanted a small memento of this night. It was up to him as to how he was going to be able to keep it from the younger Winchester. Spike smirked to himself at the thought of Sam finding out. The shit-stirrer in him relished the thought of witnessing how that would go down. 

 

*

 

Dean dried off, gingerly patting at the new mark Spike had gifted him, while admiring the vampire’s hardened body as he did the same. He hung his towel and returned to the bedroom. The bed looked so incredibly inviting as lethargy crept into his muscles and burrowed in behind his eyelids. Spike slinked up behind him wrapping his arms around his middle planting a soft kiss into the crook of his neck. Dean relished the feeling of his hardened body against him. 

“Why don’t you get some shut eye? You could use it,” he whispered against his ear. Dean smiled and moved toward the bed. He pulled back the sheets and sunk down into the mattress. Dean held the blankets up, indicating space for the vampire to join him.

“Will you...?” The question remained unasked; the silent plea swimming in his eyes drew the vampire in.

“Of course, pet,” Spike murmured in response. 

Spike curled in around the hunter, an arm slid under his neck and looped across his chest, his fingers lingering above the newly inflicted bite mark, the other tracing small circles across the swell of his hip and down across his hardened belly. Dean curled his fingers around Spike’s hand on his chest, relishing his closeness and smiling at the slight tickling sensation of Spike’s fingers along the lines and dips of his stomach and chest. Dean released a long sigh as the vampire curled in closer. He felt oddly safe in his arms as sleep blessedly settled over him. 

 

* 

 

Dean woke with a start and he realised that he was alone in the bed, sheets draped up around his shoulders. Spike was already awake and dressed, sitting on the end of the bed smoking a cigarette. He crushed it out in the clean ashtray between his feet on the floor.

“Evening, sleepy head,” Spike said turning to face him. A heart-shattering smile was beamed down at him and Dean wanted to sink further under the covers, to never have to leave this place.  
But, his reality beckoned. He stretched and yawned to cover the yearning sigh that threatened to break from him. 

“What time is it?”

“Here or out there?” 

“There.”

There was a particular lethargy in his voice that didn’t go unnoticed. Spike realised the weight of the world was just outside of that magically barricaded doorway and was ready to pounce, eager to devour and crush the hunter again. He would let him stay if he had his way. Let him take his well-earned reprieve from the ever-present horrors that scratched and howled at the doors of his consciousness. 

“A little before four,” Spike answered.

Dean nodded and slowly rose, slipping out of the bed to locate his clothes. He quickly dressed again as they prepared to take their leave. Spike closed the door behind them and they were in the clearing again, cars precisely where they were left. It was still dark but dawn would be approaching in just over an hour. Spike could feel it in his bones.

“So, how long are you in town for?” Dean asked, trying not to sound hopeful. 

“A few more nights,” came the perfectly non-committal response. 

It was killing Dean to leave. He knew he had to go but every instinct in him was screaming at him to stay. Dean leant in to kiss Spike languorously, lingering in the kiss to keep him close, to not have to let go. Spike could feel his need rising again but there wasn’t time. He knew that they had to part now, the sun would be up soon and Spike needed to get to another safe haven on the other side of town. Dean had a younger brother to get back to. 

“Tomorrow night?” Dean offered hopefully. 

His eyes were downcast, not wanting to look at Spike in case he said the one word in all the universe he couldn’t bear to hear right now. Spike paused, making the wait agonising. 

“You got it, love,” he said, tenderly stroking the side of Dean’s face. Dean felt a flood of relief course through him. 

“Meet you at the bar at sundown.” 

“Not a second later, pet.”

They shared one last kiss before making their final departure. Dean didn’t quite know how he was going to get through the rest of today as he drove back through town to the motel where he and Sam were staying, his body still thrumming from his night with the vampire. The anticipation was going to gnaw at him relentlessly. But he knew one thing for certain; he’d be counting the hours, minutes and seconds until sundown.

As he drove away from the clearing, he silently hoped that Sam would be asleep when he arrived. Dean wasn’t convinced he’d ever be able to explain his way out of this one.

And in truth, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to.


	4. Towering Angels

Dean floored the Impala through the ghostly quiet town back to the motel. 

His mind drifted to the first time he met Spike in Los Angeles. Now that he thought about it, it seemed a foregone conclusion that this would happen. Well, maybe to them but perhaps not to certain others. There was a reason they had to keep things quiet, other hearts and minds to consider and to keep out of dark and dangerous places. 

Dean mused momentarily about what might have been had they not accepted the help offered to them in that dank Los Angeles alley all of those long months ago.

*

Sam and Dean found themselves in Los Angeles in the middle of the night surrounded by demons. Sure, that wasn’t much out of the ordinary for the Winchesters, but they’d never been to Los Angeles and Dean couldn’t hide his initial excitement at heading to Hollywood. Sam had laughed at how his brother’s eyes lit up and his face split into a broad grin at the prospect. 

Dean openly wondered if they’d run into Doctor Sexy while they were there and Sam roared with laughter. He didn’t know that Dean had a thing for medical dramas. Dean just shrugged and grinned with that far way look in his eyes stating: “But, it’s Doctor Sexy!” as if that was all the explanation needed, which only served to make Sam laugh even harder. 

So here they were, in Hollywood and they were grossly outnumbered by a long shot. They were back to back as the horde of rampaging demons closed in. They chanted their casting out spells in Latin but nothing seemed to work, these demons were really something else. 

They’d each been scratched, bitten, kicked and punched but neither gave up quite so easily. They were wounded, but nowhere near down for the count. They’d gotten a few good swipes of their own in and Dean’s blade was covered in a variety of demon blood and gore. The shotgun only seemed to piss the demons off and salt didn’t seem to hurt them in the slightest. And now their chants were doing little to stem the onslaught. 

A lone whistle to their left distracted their attentions. The demons stopped in their approach and turned to focus on who dared disrupt them from their nightly mutilations and potential dinner. 

“Looks like you boys could use a little help,” a self-assured voice spoke. 

Dean and Sam uttered a small prayer of thanks, because honestly, they really could use a little extra help right now. The stranger swaggered in amongst the fracas as though none of this was unusual in the slightest. He cleared his throat before chanting an incantation that opened a whirling, roaring vortex above them. 

The wind whipped around them in a violent maelstrom and all manner of debris and detritus were sucked up into the gaping black maw that had opened above them before the portal swooped down to wholly devour the horde of screaming demons. Just as quickly, it closed and vanished, taking the roaring winds along with it as though it never existed. The three of them were left standing (the Winchesters still crouching), if not a little windswept but otherwise untouched.

Sam and Dean turned to face each other, confusion etched on their faces and a "did you fucking see that?” unspoken on their tongues. Their cool and collected Samaritan approached and offered his hand.

“The name’s Angel and I believe you’re... Sam and Dean Winchester, right?” Angel said, arching an eyebrow as he shook each of their hands in turn. Both registered that his touch was far cooler than most and they shared a knowing look. 

“Uh... y-yeah. How did you know that?” Sam ventured.

“Let’s just say, your names are well known around these parts,” Angel smiled. 

“They are?”

“Oh yeah! Almost as well known as Angel Investigations or Wolfram and Hart.” 

Angel waited and watched. The Winchesters didn’t seem to register either name. 

Tough crowd. 

He fished a card out of his pocket and held it towards them. Sam took the card and read it aloud. 

“Angel Investigations. We help the helpless.”

Angel held a hand over his chest and closed his eyes momentarily. He always heard Doyle’s voice in his mind whenever someone read the tagline. He couldn’t help it; he still harboured a gnawing guilt about Doyle’s demise. 

“The very same. Now, how about I introduce you to my team and we can discuss the minutiae of fighting evil back at my offices?”

Dean stepped forward, eyebrow arched in disbelief. 

“So, lemme just get this straight. You’re an evil-hunting vampire and you have,” he looked around at Sam who just shrugged indicating that he was still trying to comprehend what they were hearing, “a team? And offices? Plural?” 

An evil-hunting vampire with a team and offices! 

L.A. really was an odd fucking town. 

Angel laughed. 

“Yeah, I do. I know how it sounds and it’s kind of a long story but I’m happy to share it with you over a few drinks.” 

Dean and Sam seemed to be having a wordless debate about whether or not they could trust this guy, vampire notwithstanding. 

“If nothing else,” Angel interjected, “it’ll at least give you an opportunity to clean up a little. I know this is weird, but I promise you it will all make... some kinda sense. Besides, my team are gonna flip their lids at meeting the Winchesters!” 

Dean smirked at Sam. “L.A. little brother. Whaddya know? We’re already kinda famous here,” he whispered conspiratorially, and not without a little hint of exhilaration. 

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean could be so fucking superficial sometimes. “Yeah, but Dean!” 

The warning in Sam’s voice didn’t go unnoticed. 

“You guys need a minute, I get it. I’ll just be out on the street if you need to discuss it a little more,” Angel said before backing away. 

The idea of cleaning up and some whisky sounded pretty damn appealing right now, they had to concede. Dean arched his brow at Sam, considering Angel’s point. 

_But Angel is a vampire, so there’s that._

_But he has offices. And a team._

_But still, the guy’s a vampire!_

_Yeah... but he helped us._

_Yeah, but he’s still a goddamned vampire, hello!_

_Well, we should at least give the guy a chance to explain...shouldn’t we?_

Sam sighed and reluctantly nodded, he supposed they could as long as they were ready to fight if they needed to. Again. Angel waited against the black 1967 Plymouth GTX with his arms folded across his chest – patience personified. He smiled as the Winchesters emerged from the alley, Dean taking the lead. 

“So, where exactly are these offices of yours?”

*

Dean whistled low as the elevator doors slid open on the floor that Angel’s offices inhabited. Sam looked around in wonderment before pulling on Dean’s arm, the brothers sharing a bemused look when Lorne approached them.

“Angel cakes!” Lorne exclaimed. “Well, well, well and who do we have here?” he said, stopping to evaluate the Winchesters.

“Uh, Lorne? This is Sam and Dean Winchester,” Angel said, pointing at each brother in turn. 

Lorne let out a little excited yelp. 

"Oh, my stars! These aren’t THE Winchester brothers are they? Who knew they were so handsome! And tall! Well, let me grab my autograph book. You fellas are like the Hardy Boys – wait, scratch that – more like the Dukes of Hazzard of the evil hunting business!” Lorne tittered and clapped them each on the shoulder. 

Dean and Sam glanced at each other. Business? If Sam didn’t know any better, he could have sworn the green-skinned demon was blushing. 

"Uhh... yeah. I guess you could say that." Sam replied, bemused.

Lorne laughed, bright and cheery. “Well, aren’t you just the bees knees! Y’know, I would absolutely love to hear you both sing sometime—”

“Not now, Lorne!” Angel admonished. The bewilderment radiating from the Winchesters should have been enough to knock Lorne off his feet, but he continued on regardless. 

Lorne sighed. 

“Oh, c’mon now. Lighten up, Angel cakes!” He fawned at Angel before he turned his focus back to Sam and Dean. “Well, it sure was an honour meeting you, gentlemen,” he gripped and shook both of their hands. “For now, I’ll leave you to your,” Lorne cast a sideways and somewhat unimpressed glance at Angel, “gracious host. I sure hope to see you boys around!” 

The green demon pulled a buzzing phone out of his pocket and cast a backwards cheery glance at the boys. And with that, Lorne disappeared down one of the hallways chatting away amiably on his phone about some party business or other. Angel looked exasperated. 

“I’m sorry about that. Lorne just gets...really excited about things. It’s exhausting.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Dean said, not sure what to make of anything right now. 

Dean and Sam exchanged bewildered looks again as Angel directed them toward his office. This day was either going to keep getting weirder, more awesome or a strange combination thereof, depending on your perspective. Sam glanced over at Dean who beamed back at him – Sam noting that he’d clearly decided on it being awesome. Sam just shook his head. He really was a superficial jerk sometimes. 

They walked into Angel’s expansive office and Angel closed the door behind them and they hoped there was going to be some kind of explanation as to why they were greeted by an obsequious green demon who wanted to hear them sing. 

*

Angel offered them a seat. He fetched glasses and poured them each a whisky.

For the next hour, they chatted about demons and portals and Angel explained that not all demons are evil and Dean asks if they’ve dealt with angels (considering the guy’s name) – he hadn’t thus far. Dean gave his version on what dicks they could be, but very specifically Uriel. Sam rolled his eyes and groaned. They talked Slayers; Dean admits to having never met any to date and Angel wondered how they’d gone for so long without encountering one. 

After a time, Angel called for Wes and Fred to come in and show Sam their library and research labs (he jumped at the chance) while Dean and Angel talked more. He offered Sam a tour of the archives with Wesley and Fred while Angel spoke with Dean in private.

They drank more whisky and talked hunting. Dean was impressed by Angel's arsenal and expansive knowledge of demons and hunting and he wondered why dad had never mentioned them before. He must have known about them, surely. Just as Angel seemed to know a hell of a lot about them, the adverse wasn't true and Dean needed to know why. 

He would have asked if not for the sudden urge to sleep that had stopped his train of thought mid-track. A wave of lethargy swept over him and he slipped under the welcoming waves of blackness. 

“Huh, that didn’t take long,” Angel mused as he nudged his foot of the sleeping Winchester. 

Out like a light. Angel downed the rest of his own glass before placing the empty back on his desk. He sighed as he hoisted Dean up and over his shoulder and made his way to the internal elevator that would deliver him to the dungeons twenty floors beneath the street.

*

All Dean remembered after that point was darkness. He thinks he may have been struck from behind and possibly had the whammy put on him. His head felt like it was going to crack open as the pain filtered into his consciousness. 

“Sam?” his voiced croaked in the dark and echoed in his ears. 

No response. He quickly shifted into a sitting position, which made pain shoot through him in violent sparks. It was dark with only a small blue light above what he could only imagine was the door to wherever he was casting a faint eerie glow over everything. His eyes weren’t yet adjusted to the dark. 

“SAM?!”

“No one here by that name,” a laconic British voice said in the dark. 

*

Dean pulled off to the side of the road, resting his head against the steering wheel and sighing heavily. He knew that if Sam were still up, he’d have to cover his tracks with some flimsy excuse. He also knew that Sam wasn’t stupid and would know exactly what was up. He pulled the small flask of whisky out of his pocket and shook it. 

_Eureka!_

There was just enough in there to make his ruse work, enough to cover for being a little more than drunk. He chugged down a burning mouthful, wincing as he swallowed before splashing some onto his shirt for added effect. He ruffled his hair, rubbed his eyes and roughed up his clothes making sure he looked appropriately untidy – given that he’d only showered recently. He was already worked over and bone weary from his time with Spike so at least he wouldn’t have to fake that. 

Dean really wasn’t in any kind of shape or mood to be discussing whatever this thing with Spike was with Sam. He figured that if it could wait until tomorrow (today) once he’d had some sleep, quickly followed by a whole bucket of coffee and a chance to consume his body weight in bacon and eggs, then all the better.


	5. Hell's Basement

Spike hadn’t fed for days. 

The hunger gnawed at him incessantly and he knows he can’t have what’s in front of him. This is his test and his torture. He couldn’t quite remember which of his minor transgressions had landed him in the shit this time but he’s pretty sure Angel was relishing his opportunity to, quite literally and purposefully, rub his nose in it. 

The thought of Angel’s smirking face made him forget his immediate hunger for sustenance and replaced it with a far darker need. For now, he was just going to have to suck it up and play whatever hand he was dealt. He’d have his pound of flesh – one way or another. 

There’d be time…there was always time. 

The body in the corner stirred rousing Spike from his contemplation about all the terrible and incredibly brutal ways in which he was going to exact his revenge from Angel. The movement caused the heady scent of blood to violently flood the vampire’s senses, forcing his head back against the wall. 

Spike palmed his eyes as the maddening scent forced its way into every burning fibre of his being, fiercely stoking his hunger from a flicker he could easily ignore to an inferno that commanded his full attention. He let out a low growl in an attempt to force it down. He doubted it would work, but he knew with blinding clarity that he wasn’t about to give Angel the satisfaction of giving in to his most basic need, no matter how fucking hard it was. Gandhi called it passive resistance; Spike called it a big ‘fuck you’ to his maker even though it was to his own detriment. 

The body lie groaning as it slowly roused, the pain creeping in and making its presence known. Spike could only tell it was male and that was about all, he had no clear indication of who this guy was or why he’d been so goddamned lucky to be chosen as an unwitting participant in Angel’s sick little game. All he knew was that he had been brawling and his skin was covered in fresh cuts and gouges, the air was thick with the cloying scent of his blood (as much as his hunger was telling him) and he was thrown into the dungeon merely to force the vampire well and truly past the point of redemption. Set the monster free, then Angel would have him on the hook for as long as he wanted… 

_Not this time, mate._

Spike had been locked in the dungeon for the past few days (he’d lost count of how many exactly) without a drop of sustenance and now here it was. A warm, blood-soaked body thrust under his nose like a starving dog given a meaty bone and made to wait for the command. Angel was becoming an increasingly sick fucker and Spike wondered if someone had managed to let Angelus out of his cage. Either that or eternal torment was seriously starting to warp his gourd. He knew in his heart, nay, in the pit of his gut that it was all Wolfram and Hart. 

The human started coughing as it tried to sit up from a prone position on the cold floor. 

“Sam?” he croaked.

Spike sighed.

“SAM?!”

“No one here by that name,” Spike said. 

The bloke shifted in place, Spike could smell the little thread of panic working its way into his blood. 

“Where…where… in the…. fuck am I?” 

“You’re in a dungeon somewhere deep in the bowels of Wolfram and Hart,” Spike answered matter-of-factly. He felt his hunger intensifying, quickly dissolving his determination not to eat his fellow cellmate. 

“What?” the man asked incredulously between spluttering coughs. 

“Sorry, didn’t realise I was stutterin’ mate. Dungeon, Wolfram and Hart, Bowels of,” he said counting them off on his fingers. “Anythin’ else you need to know?” 

“Yeah,” he answered gruffly as he pushed himself up off the floor using the wall for leverage, right hand reaching inside his jacket. He violently wrenched a gun out of the holster, silently grimacing against the sudden jolt of pain that shot down his side, cocked the hammer and aimed it unerringly at the vampire. 

“Where’s Sam, who the fuck are you and why am I here?” 

 

*

 

“Woah, alright tough guy,” Spike said disdainfully, “How ‘bout you and I just talk about things all nice ‘n calm without doing anything stupid, yeah?” 

Spike figured he might as well try reasoning with the guy, as angry as he was, and failing that he could always resort to his old favourite – violence. He recognised that he may have been at a disadvantage seeing as he was near starving and all but he was sure he could overpower him, given the way the guy was barely holding himself up. The odds could easily be swayed in his favour if he was careful about it. 

“Seeing as we’re in the same soddin’ boat here, I don’t see why you’re pointin’ that thing at me. I’m in just as much of a pickle as you are, mate. Look around.” 

His fellow prisoner seemed to consider what he was saying and realised that Spike wasn’t the bad guy in this scenario. Seemed that the same someone had imprisoned Spike too. He lowered the gun slowly. 

Spike introduced himself; the bloke with the gun was Dean Winchester. Spike immediately registered the name; hunter, younger brother – Sam – the one he was asking for when he woke. Father was John Winchester, their mother was killed by Azazel. He thought her name was Mary. Yeah, that was it. Mary Winchester. 

_Nasty business that._

Spike shifted in place knowing full well that the elder Winchester would know who he was too. He had to think on his feet. 

“So, what’s the last thing you remember before waking up?” Spike ventured, the scent of the hunters blood proving an incessant distraction. 

“We were caught in an alley, fighting demons. Then we came back here. Then we were... having a drink... with Angel!” Dean spat. “That goddamn son-of-a-bitch put the whammy on me! He’s fucking toast! I need to get the fuck outta here. He better not have touched Sam or so fucking help me—” 

“Woah there, Hercules. Let’s not get too heroic just yet. I’m sure he’s just fine. Angel has a very fuckin’ twisted way of doin’ things but he won’t touch him. He’s done this to get at me and you’ve just been caught in the cross hairs of his rabid bollocks.” 

“What the fuck do I have to do with any of,” Dean screwed his face up trying to figure out what exactly ‘rabid bollocks’ meant and settled on, “whatever the fuck it is you just said?” His irritation burned brightly in his chest, along with the pain that was awakening and besetting the rest of his body. 

“Your guess is as good as mine, mate. For now, let’s just work on how we’re gonna get outta here then we’ll get to askin’ all the important questions and takin’ our respective pounds of flesh. Sound like a plan?” 

Dean looked at the vampire incredulously. His anger was almost palpable in the small space and it made his pulse quicken, forcing blood to rush and pound beneath the surface of his broken skin. 

“Yeah, sure. Just know that if you dare turn on me, you’re just as fucking dead as he's gonna be,” Dean warned. 

The vampire rolled his eyes at the threat: “Yeah, fine, whatever.” 

Spike was quickly growing tired of the hunter’s idle threats and he could end it all, right here and now. If he were any less of a vampire, he would simply take it. No question. But for his sins, he would refrain even though the cloying scent of Dean’s blood pressed at his senses, daring him to step forward and just fucking do it.

It wouldn’t take much... Spike smirked to himself as he lingered on the thought of the Winchesters’ hot blood gushing into his mouth and forcing its way down into his gullet—

“Hey! The fuck are you staring at?” Dean bellowed snapping him back into cold, harsh, hunger-soaked reality. The vampire hadn’t realised he was very keenly studying the lines and curves of the hunter’s jaw and throat as he spoke.

“Huh? Uh, yeah right. Nothing.” 

Spike pushed the tantalising fantasy aside hoping he was coming across all convincingly nonchalant. Gods-all-fucking-mighty he was ravenous; the hunger burning in his veins and this bitchy little blood sack was so painfully close. He could almost feel the rhythm and flow of Dean’s blood pumping through the veins – the very ones snaking just beneath that delicate… silken… surface. The vampire gulped hard.

 _Just a little nick is all..._ Spike was perilously close to being lost to his need. 

“You fucking try it and I’ll blow your goddamned head off you dirty son-of-a-bitch!” 

Dean glowered at the vampire, one hand now protectively covering his throat while keeping the gun aimed purposefully with the other. 

Spike raised his hands in surrender and backed away. Dean lowered the gun – just a little. 

“Can’t blame a starving bloke for thinking about it, y’know,” he offered. 

Whilst he was a starving vampire, he had no doubt that he could take what he needed if it came down to it. He knew he had to approach this differently, that much was clear. The hunter was shrewd and obviously wouldn’t fall for the usual BS that some vamps peddle to get close. He’d have to reason with this one and avoid potentially getting murdered in the process.

The intoxicating scent of the hunter’s wounds had haunted the vampire for hours and he knew he needed to leverage that and find a way to use it to his advantage. Get enough strength up to get them out, to take Angel to task over their imprisonment and get Dean back to his brother. He had to convince him that they could help each other and that it was the only way. Dean paced the small cell trying to find gaps around the cell door with no luck. 

“Just stop for a second and let’s work out a plan,” Spike began quietly as the elder Winchester kept trying to find something, anything that would help him escape.   
“Dean, please,” he continued in the same quiet tone. 

Dean stopped inching his fingers around the hinges of the cell door and barked an irritated “What?” at the disruption to his ‘work’. 

Spike had a plan. 

And much to his surprise – Dean was listening.


	6. Blood Oath

Spike made a compelling and well-considered argument that he could get them out and most importantly, to Angel, who had done this to them both. 

The catch was that he was weak and needed Dean’s blood to build his strength. He promised not to take too much just enough to give him the power to get them out. He could heal his wounds in the process, allowing Dean to get out there and kick as much arse as he needed. The vampire knew the hunter was tightly coiled and ready to strike so he had to spin it so Dean would see the advantage for both of them. He was keenly aware that it could all turn to shit in less than a heartbeat if anything happened to the younger Winchester. Spike silently hoped against hope that the great white ponce upstairs wasn’t getting any fancy ideas about that. 

To help shore up Dean’s trust, Spike quickly searched to find him an improvised wooden stake from the rubble and debris littering the edges of the dungeon. It wasn’t much but it was a reassurance that the vampire was willing to risk potential annihilation if he went against his word. Dean gripped the stake in his hand, flexed his fingers around the end and tested its weight in his hand. It would do if it came to that. Spike recognised that the hunter knew what he was doing.

Dean mulled over Spike’s offer and considered his options. He paced the small dark room as he thought it through; brow furrowed, stake clutched in a white-knuckled fist and the thumbnail of the other fist well and truly gnawed upon as he went. Was there another way? There had to be fucking something, some other way of getting out of here without resorting to... _that_. The whole idea was completely anathema to Dean, letting a vampire snack on him even as a means of escape. 

_If only Sam or Bobby or anyone else were here–_ he dropped that train of thought because they very clearly weren’t here. Well, Sam was, but he wasn’t exactly right here. As it stood, it was just he and Spike in a dark dungeon deep beneath the heaving streets of Los Angeles. Or, it was just Dean and his wits and his gun with no bullets, as he’d quickly learned. And Spike the Vampire. Spike who was patiently awaiting his answer... unless it was another ambush, another trap set by Angel. 

Why would he go to all that bother just to fuck with them? Put a half-starved vampire in a dungeon with the plan of dropping him down here. How would Angel have even known they were in town? It seemed too convenient and highly implausible. No, this was a spur of the moment decision. Buy why? Dean continued his pacing and ruminating over his very limited choices, he’d figure out the wherefore and whys later. He mumbled against his thumbnail, his irritation at the situation escalating. 

Spike surveyed him like a hungry alley cat waiting to pounce. He watched the man pacing and mumbling to himself. He watched keenly as Dean’s anger simmered just below the surface, barely contained. He kept quiet waiting for the penny to drop and for Dean to realise what needed to be done. Spike’s hunger refused to abate and its claws grew sharper still. It tore away at his insides as Dean continued his incessant pacing in the confined space. Pace. Stop. Mutter. Pace. Stop. Mutter. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. If felt like eons had wheeled and passed as he marched from one side of the dungeon to the other and back again, muttering and gnawing as he went. 

Dean was keenly aware that there weren’t too many other options floating about in the ether but he had to have some assurances. Death would come swiftly if the vamp got carried away – no ifs, buts or maybes. And as long as things didn’t get too damned weird, Dean was going to have to, if not rather begrudgingly, be okay with the vampire occupying a whole lot of his personal space. And no one was to make a big deal about it and there was going to be absolutely no fucking talking about it afterwards. 

To fucking anyone. 

_Ever._

The vampire agreed, smiling, and assured Dean that the hunter’s reputation – whatever it may be – would remain respectfully intact.

 

*

 

Dean apprehensively cleared a space and lay on the ground removing his outer top layers and used them to create a makeshift mat. He grimaced as he gingerly lifted his bloodstained shirt over his head and tucked it behind his neck. He could feel the vampires’ eyes on him in the dark, scrutinising every level inch of him and burrowing into his bloodied skin. 

He’d never felt more like a lamb being led to the slaughter. Only he had willingly walked himself to the gallows. In that moment, Dean felt utterly exposed and he simply wanted it over with so he could get the fuck out of here. Dean closed his eyes; he really didn’t need to watch his indignity played out in the dark, even though it was just the two of them and he’d agreed to this. 

Spike moved in close to inspect the wounds on Dean’s work hardened torso. The blood pulsing just beneath the semi-scabbed surfaces drew Spike’s true face; he couldn’t stop it, even if he’d wanted to. The scent of the hunters’ blood intensified as he drew closer and the vampire suddenly stopped inches away from him, the scent of his warm skin and the promise of the exquisite nectar just beneath holding sway over him. He wanted to move forward – sideways or backwards would have been good, too – but any forward motion was seemingly impossible right now. He was utterly fixed in place as if an invisible wall had sprung up between them. 

Dean wondered why Spike wasn’t just getting the fuck on with it. He opened his eyes and noticed the changed vampire frozen to the spot, which made him grip the stake even tighter in his already firmly clenched fist at his side. He had a moment of doubt seeing him in vampire form. A cold sliver of panic gripped him as he brought the improvised weapon up to his chest. 

Dean cleared his throat: “Spike?” 

A short non-committal grunt came in reply. 

“Funny, never ’ad performance anxiety before… s’weird,” Spike said softly, somewhere between a selfless apology and bewilderment, forcing his vampire form to recede. Dean felt a little easier at his reversion and smiled to himself, Spike’s admission briefly lifting the awkward tension. “Probably seems trite to ask at this point but… d’you mind?” the vampire’s voice low and rough with need. 

Dean considered what Spike was asking, still not fully convinced that he could trust him but, to his credit, he could have simply taken what he needed. And for a starving vampire to ask permission, he knew that was pretty much unheard of. He tightened his grip on the weapon. 

“Well…I…uh…” Dean huffed to steel himself, “Just be gentle, okay? I… um… I haven’t… done this kind of thing before,” he admitted sheepishly. 

Spike smiled, promising that he would be. Freed from his former immobility Spike moved toward Dean again. His attention initially focused on a large slash running diagonally across the left of his ribcage down along the rippled muscle of his stomach. Spike positioned himself so his full weight wouldn’t bear down on the hunter and made his move. 

His lips suctioned onto the cut and his tongue flashed into the small opening with such speed that Dean gasped and flinched at the sensation, gritting his teeth against the shock of pain it sent coursing through him. The vampire used his fingers to gently massage the skin around the cuts to open them a little further and to give him access to the goods just beneath the surface without tearing into the flesh. 

Spike made small appreciative hums, murmuring against his skin as he worked. His first taste of blood in days and it was indescribably intense. Spike relished the taste of it on his tongue and couldn’t help the small needy sounds he made as each lash of his tongue delivered up more sweet ambrosia. Dean felt like a bloody lollipop being leisurely devoured. He tried very hard not to think about the sensation of the other man’s lips and tongue against his skin. No, he would absolutely not think about that at all. 

Spike carefully laved his way along the line of the cut from his ribs all the way down and across his stomach in this fashion – loudly lapping, sucking and kneading the taught torn skin into submission. Dean noted that it no longer hurt, and try as he might deny it all to hell and back, it felt good, bordering on fucking fantastic. He let the thought roll around and selfishly luxuriated in the sensations for a few moments before mentally slapping himself. 

_It’s just a necessity to get us out of here, nothing else. This is only to get you back to Sam. And the sick fuck that did this. Don’t concentrate on – damn! – how fucking good it feels. Ah, shit..._

Dean did his best to hold his breath, squeezing his eyes closed he tried not to focus on what was happening as the vampire’s cool tongue, lips and fingers caressing his skin. The hunter’s forced his breathing into a somewhat regular rhythm as he fixated back on Angel. His jaw clenched. He may have felt only a minuscule speck less weird, a little angrier but he wasn’t letting up his guard about what was happening. That would be positively suicidal. 

Spike continued to gently work at the grazes and cuts on his torso seemingly indifferent to the tortured, vacillating thoughts swirling inside the hunter’s mind. Dean kept his eyes closed feeling a small level of comfort in the odd situation and barely noticing the vampire’s fingers tracing delicate patterns into his skin as he kneaded. 

Dean swallowed hard and couldn’t help tensing up again the further the vampire moved up his body. Just as he was (barely) getting used to him being in one spot, he quickly moved again and Dean was having a hard time keeping his cool. Besides, it’s not every day you have another dude (a vampire, no less!) licking your wounds clean in a dank, dark dungeon. He could just imagine the looks Sam would give him and it made his stomach knot. He had to get back to Sam, he was doing this for him and getting out of here was his first priority. Spike felt Dean rigidly flexing under him and stopped momentarily. 

“Relax,” Spike said, “this’ll go much easier if you’re not so twitchy.”

“Mmf, uh... sorry,” Dean muttered. “Tickles,” he said flashing an uncomfortable smirk in the dark. Just how in the fuck was he supposed to relax exactly? The erotic nature of what was happening was the giant white elephant crammed into the dungeon with them. Dean wondered exactly how Spike would handle it if the situation were reversed and asked as much. 

“Don’t think I’d have such a hard time with it, to be honest,” Spike shrugged and continued: “Some hot, rough-and-ready killer licking my wounds like a cat with a bowl of cream? Definitely not the worst thing in the world.” Spike licked his lips and quirked an eyebrow, smirking like the said cat. 

Dean didn’t know where to look, he paled and keenly regretted saying anything. 

“Now, if ya don’t mind I’ll be done with you presently unless you have any further objections?” Spike hovered, waiting for Dean to give the go-ahead or to protest. 

“Er... as you... were then,” Dean faltered. 

Dean cleared his throat, readjusted his position and closed his eyes once more. He knew it was going to be nigh on impossible for him to not be wound up like a tightly coiled spring after _that_. But there was nothing else for it and he did his level best to try to relax if only to get his humiliation over with. As Spike slowly made his way back up the hunter’s taut body, he felt Dean slightly ease into it, just a little. Spike’s hunger wasn’t anywhere near sated at the minuscule amounts of blood he was able to draw from the wounds. 

The vampire knew that he was going to have to ask for what he needed as well as keeping to the assurances he’d made. The hunter was clenching the stake in his fist for dear life. He was very aware that Dean could handle himself and would have no qualms about ending him right here and right now if he made one false move. Continuing in his present ministrations he perceived a marked increase in Dean’s respiration, the rise and fall of his torso coming in quickening succession. The vampire sidled in beside the hunter to allow him better access to a small wound on his chest, situated just to the right of the anti-possession tattoo. 

Dean did his level best to keep his breathing steady but it was getting warmer inside his skin. Dean knew all the heat was radiating from him, not the vampire and not from anywhere else in the dungeon. 

_Calm the fuck down and breathe!_

Dean berated himself in the vain hopes that it would not make things any more awkward than they already were. Dean knew that Spike had already clocked him; imperceptible as the changes may be to anyone else, they were fucking great flashing billboards to vampires. The only change Spike commented on was the anxious tension flooding his body. The rest? Well... he was, so far, gracious enough not to mention them. 

_Fucking Angel._ Concentrate on that sharp, burning ire. That’ll work. 

Spike gently suckled on the wound on his chest while Dean fought a new battle internally. He concentrated on the wound in the same way as all the others – tongue softly probing, fingers kneading at the edges, lips suctioning around them. The hunters’ heart rate intensified and his pulse raced under his skin. Spike detected small traces of adrenaline in the blood he took and felt the increasing warmth radiating from the man. 

The vampire knew he was heading into dangerous territory – the heat, adrenaline, increased heart rate, and breathing could only mean a few things. Dean was ready to fight or run. Then again, perhaps it was a far darker flame that arose in him but Spike wouldn’t hedge his bets. He was so close to the hunter’s blood thrumming just beneath his skin. Each vibrant pulse was like a siren’s song, a sweet seduction summoning him to its rapturous, deadly edge. He had to regroup and focus. 

Spike shook it off, lifting his head to shift his focus to the shallow cuts along the length of Dean’s neckline. Spike felt his throat tighten and his mouth go dry. He was closer still; his hunger burning ravenous and hot in his veins as temptation dared him to resist his primal urges. He swallowed thickly and Dean shifted back nervously but Spike noticing his reticence, held him fast quietly reassuring him that he’d be safe. 

_Gently, gently, towards tender prey, do not frighten little dears away._

“Gonna get up real close and personal, if that’s okay,” Spike said quietly. Dean would have sworn on a stack of bibles that there was a slight purr in his voice as he said it. Dean exhaled, slowly turning his head to allow the vampire access, the stake clasped against his chest as a silent reminder and warning. 

“Sure,” Dean seethed, trying to keep his voice neutral. Gritting his teeth he prayed to whomever the fuck was listening for his sweet torture to be over. 

Spike leaned in, latching his lips to the wounds along the tender skin of his throat. Dean bit his lower lip to stop himself from groaning and whimpering aloud at the soft contact. It was too intimate, too familiar; the way the vampire’s tongue caressed and teased the delicate skin over his jugular and pulse points. With each soft stroke against the torn skin, Spike emitted a low rumble deep in his chest, exactly the way a lover would – and very much how he had worked on the rest of his body so far. Dean held his breath but it was no use. Each stabilised exhale gave him away, as much as he tried to breathe evenly it came out with a slight tremor, his body increasingly betraying him. 

Spike continued his gentle assault and the more Dean tried to suppress the effect it was having on him, the more Spike knew he could use it to his advantage. As he moved his tongue up closer to his ear Dean shuddered, full body, and there was no hiding it. Dean froze, his body rigid with the realisation that the jig was up and it was clear to Spike then that his initial read was right. It seemed that without too much convincing, he might just get what he so desperately needed. He slowly laved a soft trail from his collarbone up his throat making a small, satisfied rasp close to his ear. Dean squeezed his eyes closed tighter, crushing the stake and almost splintering the wood in his fist. 

_Fuck._

A million things ran through Dean’s mind at that point: how this should absolutely not feel amazing (but it did, gods above and below it so fucking did) and how taking pleasure in it was supremely fucked up and how he also most very definitely fucking _wanted_ it. 

“Dean,” Spike said unobtrusively. 

The sound of his name snapped him out of his musings with a sharp intake of breath. 

“I need something more from you,” Spike grit out against Dean’s ear. Dean’s harried breathing intensified the vampire’s hunger further, he continued: “I need to feed from you directly. I haven’t forgotten our deal. No more than necessary.” Spike curled his fingers around Dean’s hand, angling the jagged tip of the stake against his own heart. “Please.”

Dean looked up through his lashes, blinking at the vampire, vaguely registering the hand over his holding the stake firmly against Spike’s heart. The internal war still raged behind Dean’s eyes, a fearsome and violent conflict tearing at his sturdy defenses, whilst a silent quivering “yes” formed on his lips. A ‘yes’ that went against every fibre of his being but he was too far gone to reconsider or to pretend that it wasn’t anything other than what he simply needed to do for the sake of his brother. 

Spike made a small gesture of thanks for what he was about to receive and for the sacrifice he knew Dean was making in more ways than could be counted.


End file.
